Capitol Magic

CAPITOL MAGIC

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

NOTE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

THANK YOU

SNEAK PEEK

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT BOOK VIEW CAFÉ

CAPITOL MAGIC

Mindy Klasky

Copyright 2012 by Mindy Klasky

Published by Res Ipsa Press, by arrangement with Book View Café

Cover by Sirena Ung

ISBN: 978-0-9854570-2-0

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Discover other titles by Mindy Klasky at
http://www.mindyklasky.com

To Stephanie Dray,

Who opened my eyes to the fun of novellas

Note:
Capitol Magic
is a novella that brings together Jane Madison, the heroine of the Jane Madison Series, and Sarah Anderson, the heroine of
Fright Court. Capitol Magic
assumes that readers have read those prior works—certain plot details from those novels are revealed in this novella. If you are the type of reader who gets cranky when plots are spoiled, then check out these links before reading further:

Buy
Girl's Guide to Witchcraft
and read the rest of Jane's story here:

 
http://tinyurl.com/bvc-girls-guide

Or, buy the entire Jane Madison series in a three-in-one omnibus edition here:

 
http://tinyurl.com/bvc-jane-madison-series

Buy
Fright Court
and read the rest of Sarah's story here:

 
http://tinyurl.com/bvc-fright-court

CHAPTER 1

JANE

SOMETIMES, CUPCAKES ARE the only reason I get out of bed in the morning.

Okay. Cupcakes. And oolong tea. And the chance to talk to my best friend, Melissa White, who just happens to own a bakery providing both of the above.

Most days, I can make do with a scone. Or a muffin. Something that remotely resembles what a responsible grownup eats for breakfast.

But other days, I really, really need a Yellow Brick Road cupcake—golden cake with intense fudge icing. And when I'm having one of those days, I'm always tempted to buy a couple extra, just to lick the frosting off the top. What can I say? They're small—just a bite or two in each one. That's what makes them all the more addictive.

Melissa refilled my mug with hot water. “So? When do you need to be out of the cottage?”

I mimed putting my fingers in my ears. “I'm not listening to you.”

“I don't get it. You're the one who quit your job at the library to try something new. Why are you getting cold feet now?”

Why, indeed?

My cold feet couldn't possibly be because I was one week away from being evicted from my home, from the cottage that had been the only decent perk of the library job I had left behind. And the frost nipping at my toes could not possibly be because I knew I was letting my witchcraft skills lie dangerously fallow, finding it far too great a challenge to summon my familiar from the arms of the man of his dreams. And that icy draft certainly was not because my warder, my astral protector, the man charged with keeping me safe in the physical and magical worlds, had become my true, honest-to-Hecate boyfriend, complete with overnights at his rural home and silly little in-jokes that I was
almost
beginning to trust.

Almost. But not quite. Not enough to take the entirely reasonable step of moving in with David Montrose and founding the school for witches that had seemed like such a brilliant idea when I'd announced it almost six months before.

Damn. Melissa was still waiting for an answer. I gestured toward my Yellow Brick Road crumbs and tried to put her off with a Shakespeare quote: “He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.”

“Troilus and Cressida,” she responded grimly. “Act one. Scene one. And I wouldn't use
that
play as my guiding light for solving life's problems. How many people do you know who have seen it?”

I had. And Melissa, too. But she had a point; it wasn't one of the Bard's best.

I sighed and gestured with my hands, clenching and unclenching my fingers as I tried to explain. “I loved my work as a reference librarian. I don't want to leave that behind entirely. I don't want to have wasted all the years I spent gaining that expertise.” I stared over Melissa's head at the calendar on the far wall, with each day marked off by a tidy black X. I wished that my life could be so perfectly structured, so utterly organized. “I want to do something that builds on my old job,” I said. “Something like… Like consulting for clients with private library collections.”

Ta-da! The words echoed inside my skull, even after I had said them. They resonated like chords on a pipe organ, like an angelic choir reverberating in a massive cathedral.

“That's it!” I said to Melissa. “I want to be a library consultant! I can help small organizations catalog their private collections. Figure out the best way to present information so that it's accessible to everyone who needs it. I can identify holes in collections and help owners work to fill those holes.” With every phrase, I grew more excited. I was absolutely certain: I had finally found the right job for me, the one I was born to do.

My best friend made a wry face. “And to think—all it took was a handful of mini-cupcakes and the threat of eviction.”

“And oolong tea,” I said. “Don't forget the oolong.”

Melissa looked past me, putting on her friendliest smile to greet a new customer. In my excitement over discovering my new career path, I hadn't even heard the shop door open. “Good morning,” Melissa said. “May I help you?”

I should have been embarrassed that one of Melissa's customers had overheard my enraptured babbling. Somehow, though, I didn't think the woman who stepped up to the counter minded. I didn't think she'd even heard a word.

Even though it was early morning, the customer looked exhausted. She was about the same age as Melissa and I, but at first glance she looked about ten years older. Her makeup was worn, as if she had never gone to bed the night before. Her green eyes were bloodshot. Nevertheless, her auburn hair was neatly brushed, and her Ann Taylor suit fit her precisely. She wore a coral ring on the middle finger of her right hand, and a hematite bracelet on her left wrist.

Even as she set down one of Melissa's menus and lined it up precisely with the edge of the counter, something about her
jangled
. Something about the way that she carried herself. Something about that jewelry.

I closed my eyes, as if that would help me to remember some fact I had momentarily forgotten. The information I sought was there… Somewhere… Just beyond my conscious thought…

I heard the woman order a slice of Almond Lust, with a couple of Peppermint Clouds on the side. Melissa made small talk as she boxed up the baked goods. Apparently, she knew the woman, had seen her in Cake Walk before. The register chirped, and money changed hands. Melissa offered a receipt, which was rejected.

The customer collected her sweets, but she hesitated before walking away. She shifted the golden elastic band on her box of goodies, settling the bow in the precise center of the box. The motion was tight, automatic, as if she regularly imposed order on the chaos of the world around her.

And somehow, it made my thoughts tumble into place.

“Purification!” I said, as if I'd been in the middle of a conversation. Melissa looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. “The coral ring,” I said, pointing at the customer's hand. “Coral is an ancient source of purification.”

As soon as I said it, I knew I was right—there was something
special
about the ring, something charged. For that matter, the hematite bracelet was sparking as well, urging me to acknowledge its own unique magical properties. I smiled at the customer, surprising a look of comprehension on her face.

“Precisely,” she said, pinning me with a sharp gaze. “Most people aren't aware of the old meanings.”

She was testing me, and I knew it. “Some of us see more than others,” I said, deliberately keeping my words vague but hoping she would understand.

And my response seemed to push her toward some decision. She raised her chin, almost as if she were defying me. “I overheard you talking a moment ago,” she said. “I happen to be looking for a library consultant, and I think you might be the perfect woman for the job.”

* * *

That evening, I found myself deep in the heart of the District of Columbia courthouse, meeting with my first consulting client. Sarah Anderson, she had introduced herself back in the bakery. Clerk of Court for the District of Columbia Night Court. Well, that explained the tired look on her face that morning—she had just come off a full night of work when she dropped by Cake Walk. We had agreed to meet in the evening, after she'd had a chance to sleep.

I had taken advantage of my otherwise quiet day to do some research in the multiple volumes that still lined the basement walls of my soon-to-be-forfeited home. I had remembered correctly—coral
was
known for its ability to purify all forms of contamination. It was also useful in taming tempers, subduing rages, and controlling compulsive disorders.

As long as I was reading, I looked up hematite as well. The heavy, shiny stone harmonized mind, body, and spirit. It protected against negative energy, making it an excellent stone to wear during rituals. Its magnetism created a bond between friends.

Of course, none of that explained the frisson I had felt when I saw Sarah's jewelry. None of it said why the ring and the bracelet had drawn me in, called to me as strongly as the magical tools in my basement.

Sarah's smile was worried as we walked down a long marble hallway. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me this evening. I know that most people are closing up shop by this time of day.”

“No problem,” I said. “It must be odd for you, working the night shift.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “You have
no
idea.”

We stopped in front of a metal door, one that looked like the dozens we had already passed. “I hope you don't mind stairs,” Sarah said apologetically.

I assured her I did not. Nevertheless, she frowned as she unlocked the door, revealing a concrete stairwell lit only by a single dim bulb. Silently, we started down the steps—one flight, two, three. There were five in all, and the weak light from above barely let me make out the heavy iron key that Sarah used to work a massive lock on the lower landing.

She reached around to palm on a light switch, and I flinched as bright fluorescent bulbs sprang to life. “Please,” she said. Or rather, she attempted to say. She needed to clear her throat—twice—before she could force out the single word of welcome.

I shivered as I stepped into the room.

For just a moment, I thought she had made some mistake. The floor here was battered hardwood. In the center of the vast space was a boxing ring, surrounded by bright blue mats. A Universal gym gleamed beside stacks of free weights, and a full set of gymnastics equipment was laid out.

The far corner of the room was given over to a cage—floor to ceiling bars as dark as iron, spaced at four-inch intervals. Something about the enclosure raised the hairs on the back of my neck. For just a moment, I thought that I shouldn't have come on my own. I should have brought David. I should have let him protect me from whatever lurked in this underground lair.

But that was absurd. I didn't need my warder. Not here. Not when all the other walls were lined with books. Not when the air was redolent with the smell of leather, of parchment. Not when a massive table crouched by the shelves, hosting dozens of volumes that looked as old and as valuable as the witchcraft books that filled my own basement.

“What is this place?” I asked.

Sarah rubbed her arms, as if she were cold. “It's called the Old Library.”

I smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Well, that sounds right up my alley.”

“I hope so.” She cast another nervous glance at the door. I began to wonder if she wasn't supposed to be here, if she didn't have permission. That didn't make sense, though. She had known precisely which door to open in the long marble hallway. She had carried the heavy iron key. No one could have found this room by accident.